8 Magnificent Millionaires

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I WAS introduced to her at dinner at the Dorchester in London by a mutual friend who happens to be a film director.’ Straightening to his full height, Adrian paused as if carefully weighing the words he was about to speak. A sudden ferocious gust of wind rattled the windowpane, startling them both with an eerie whistling sound that sent a chill racing down Liadan’s spine. On the mantel, the ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder to her suddenly hypersensitive hearing.

Drawing his fingers through his hair almost wearily, Adrian sighed. ‘To cut a long story short…we had a fling, a brief sexual liaison that didn’t last longer than a couple of weeks. It was stupid of me. I should never have got involved with Petra even for a second. The woman was unstable—irrational. The pressure of superstardom had seriously started to unravel her. We made love, yes, but I took precautions. There was no way that the baby she was supposedly expecting could be mine—if there was ever a baby at all.’

‘But someone is saying that there was?’

As if suddenly noticing that she was there, Adrian frowned in surprise as his glance swept over her calm, pretty face. Strangely, it seemed to anchor his thoughts somehow and he felt oddly reassured by her presence.

‘Someone?’ He laughed harshly. ‘Petra’s publicity machine, don’t you mean? Apparently they seem to think that because my star is on the rise, I could provide a whole lot of free advertising to get Petra Collins’ name back in the headlines. That’s all this whole farcical abortion business is about. I never even saw her again after the two weeks we were together were over. She certainly never contacted me to tell me she was pregnant, never mind me “forcing” her to have an abortion!’

‘They’re not going to print those lies, are they?’ Liadan spoke in hushed tones, mindful of jarring any further unhappy, unwanted memories.

‘Out of the goodness of their hearts they’re prepared to buy my side of the story to counter the claims Petra Collins’ people want to make public. Damage limitation, they call it.’

‘And…have you decided what you’re going to do?’

His expression turned suddenly savage. ‘I told them to go to hell.’

Her blue eyes taking silent inventory of the mess before her, Liadan concluded that that must have been when he had gone ballistic. And who could blame him? It was sickening that Petra Collins and her publicity machine could dream of slandering Adrian’s reputation just to put her back into the spotlight. She secretly hoped that he had put the fear of God into the brittle Cheryl Kendall before she’d left so that the reporter would seriously think twice before darkening his doorstep again.

‘All I want is to be left alone to work in peace. Why is that so bloody hard?’

Clutching the papers in her hand, Liadan got slowly to her feet. ‘Don’t let them get to you, Mr Jacobs…Adrian. I believe that people always get their comeuppance. What goes around comes around.’

To her shock Adrian’s expression grew even darker, his eyes lost in the pain of some deep inner anguish. ‘For God’s sake don’t tell me that, Liadan! I’m in enough trouble as it is without being reminded that there’s always a price to pay for past misdeeds.’

‘All of us have skeletons in our closet,’ she quickly asserted. ‘And I’m no saint. I’ve got my share of regrets about the past, but I truly believe there’s redemption for everyone in the end.’

‘Do you?’ He was suddenly at her side, his gaze intensely roving her face as if he could somehow extract from her the solution he so desperately seemed to be seeking. Her mouth went dry at his closeness.

‘You probably think I’m very naïve to hold such a belief.’

‘I have to confess your innocence intrigues me. I do believe that we reap what we sow, but as for redemption?’ His hard jaw tightened as if he were struggling to get a purchase on feelings that threatened to drag him under into an abyss that held nothing but terror. ‘From who or what? Some imagined force for good that exists in the world to save our souls? I don’t think so. Look around you. Even you surely can’t avoid noticing that fear and darkness holds most of us in its grip—no matter how hard we might wish things were different.’

Before she could utter another word in her defence, Adrian swung away from her and marched to the door. ‘If you could gather up the rest of my papers and put them together into some kind of sane order, I’d be in your debt. I suddenly feel the need for some fresh air.’

It was ridiculous, but Liadan felt devastated that Adrian seemed to believe he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for whatever past misdeeds he was overshadowed by. Whatever it was, whatever terrible thing had happened, whatever ghosts he couldn’t seem to lay to rest, he surely didn’t deserve to be tortured by it for the rest of his life? To shut himself away in this beautiful mausoleum of a house with no contact from anyone but the people who worked for him might help him produce best-selling novels with dark themes that helped fuel people’s fears, but was that a good enough reason not to move on with his life and look for something a little more hopeful?

Guiltily shaking herself out of her reverie, she quickly gathered up the rest of the strewn manuscript, stood the upturned chair back in its proper place and painstakingly picked up every shattered piece of broken crockery. Then she spent the next hour collating all the pages of Adrian’s script and putting them in a neat, orderly pile on top of his writing desk. Hoping that her efforts might induce him to feel a little calmer on his return, Liadan made to leave the room. Inadvertently glancing at the piano on her way out, she flexed her fingers longingly, then let herself out of the study to return to the utility room and get on with her chores.

‘Hello, George. Looks like the snow is finally melting.’

Clapping her hands together briskly in her warm woollen gloves, Liadan let her gaze roam briefly around the large greenhouse, then back again to the head gardener, who was examining seed trays with a frown.

‘And everything up to its eyes in muck and bullets,’ George replied dourly, before turning to give her his full attention.

‘It’s pretty while it lasts but I can see why it’s not exactly welcome. It can’t be easy taking care of gardens this large,’ Liadan commented sympathetically.

‘It’s not normally a problem. Been looking after this place most of my working life. Took care of these gardens for Mr Jacobs’ uncle. I was just a young lad when I started here. You wait till you see them in spring, Miss Willow. You’ll see a sight for sore eyes then!’

Feeling a genuine fondness developing for the older man as well as huge respect for his obvious skill and dedication in taking care of the gardens, Liadan let down her guard and started to relax. Whether she would still be here in the spring was another story entirely, but it shouldn’t stop her getting to know George a little better. With Adrian locked away in his study most of the time working and more or less on her own in the house, she wouldn’t mind someone else to talk to now and then.

‘I can’t wait. George, I wondered if you had any flowers I could have to put in the house? The place needs cheering up a bit, in my opinion.’

‘You asked Mr Jacobs about that, lass?’ Frowning, George’s light blue eyes were suddenly wary.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Mr Jacobs don’t usually like flowers in the house, lass. He said they remind him too much of funerals.’

Digesting this new knowledge with a little flutter of disquiet in her chest, Liadan shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Nothing’s set in stone, though, is it? I just thought a few nice blooms for the drawing room and the hall and maybe a pot of something I could take care of in my room. Hyacinths, perhaps?’

‘I’ll sort you out something just as soon as I’ve seen to these trays. Come back in a couple of hours, will you?’

‘Thanks, George.’

‘You settling in okay up at the house?’

Her smile was as sunny and as soothing as a summer garden and George found himself unreservedly warming to Adrian’s new young housekeeper.

‘I’m starting to get used to it. I don’t mind saying that I was quite intimidated at first.’

‘Don’t let Mr Jacobs worry you, lass. His bark is far worse than his bite, I can tell you. Very much like his uncle, he is, and he was a good man too. Never had a cross word from him in my life.’

‘Thank you. That’s very…reassuring. I’ll come back in a couple of hours, then.’ As she made her way along the slippery and wet paths that led back to the house Liadan found herself puzzling as to why Adrian would assert that flowers only reminded him of funerals. She got the feeling it had to do with whatever was tormenting him about his past, and her stomach turned over at the thought. Had someone close to him died? Someone he couldn’t forget? His wife, maybe?

‘Liadan!’

She swivelled at her name, her gaze seeking out who had called her. When she saw Steven Ferrers hurrying towards her, a garden rake hoisted in one hand and his long dark hair flying, she felt every muscle in her body contract warily. What did he want?

‘I’m glad I caught you.’ As he drew near his glance was piercing and far too familiar. Liadan wished she’d got back to the house before he’d seen her, but tried hard to conceal her irritation. George Ferrers was a sweetie but his son was not in the same league as his father. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Ferrers?’

‘Oh, come on!’ Grinning in disbelief, he swept his gaze down her figure in her long tweed coat and up again to the riot of red-gold curls that the wind had blown free of her bun. ‘We don’t need to stand on ceremony, do we? My name’s Steven. We’re both young, both stuck out here in the middle of bloody nowhere, and it’s going to be a long winter, sweetheart. What say you and me have a bit of fun? There’s a bit of a get-together tonight down at the village hall—some football mates of mine and their girls. I’m sure you could get the evening off if you fluttered those pretty eyelashes of yours at Mr Jacobs.’

The whole idea was so preposterous that Liadan was genuinely astounded. When God had been handing out bare-faced cheek, Steven Ferrers certainly hadn’t been lingering at the back of the queue. Flutter her eyelashes at Adrian Jacobs indeed! She could just imagine where that would get her. Then she remembered his dark eyes turning unsettlingly smoky during that incident in his study when he’d asked her to help to pick up his papers. Her heartbeat seemed to quicken and her breath grow suddenly shallow.

‘I think I ought to make one thing clear right now, Steven. I’m not looking to have a “bit of fun” with anyone. I’m here to do a job, and that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.’ Liadan was about to turn away, and her blue eyes flew wide in alarm when Steven grabbed her arm none too gently, glaring at her with a hard, almost threatening glance that made her blood run cold. ‘Think yourself too good for the likes of me, do you, angel? You’ll be glad enough of some normal male company after a week working for him up there! He’s not interested in women, darling, no matter how pretty. He’s got too much ice in his veins for that. You read his books? The only women he’s interested in are corpses! Spooky, wouldn’t you say?’

Pulling her arm free, Liadan felt as if her bones had suddenly turned as soggy as wet noodles. The hand she withdrew was visibly shaking in its protective bright orange glove. ‘Don’t you ever lay so much as a finger on me again, do you hear? If you do I’ll speak to the police! I won’t even hesitate—do you hear?’

It wasn’t an idle threat, either. Her friend Mel’s father was the local chief constable for the area. The thought comforted her. Alone in this out-of-the-way place, with Adrian too absorbed in his work to have an inkling what was going on should there be some kind of threat, she wanted to make sure that Steven knew she was no easy target for his mischief.

‘I thought you looked like a frigid, stuck-up bitch when I first set eyes on you! Your threats don’t frighten me, sweetheart. Police, my eye!’ As he turned and stamped back up the path towards the greenhouses Liadan let out a long, ragged breath and pressed her gloved hands to the raging heat in her face. She’d sensed that Steven Ferrers would be trouble the moment she’d set eyes on him. She wished her damned intuition had been wrong for once.

Adrian stepped back from the window, unable to suppress the strange sense of betrayal that ebbed through him at the sight of Liadan talking to an animated Steven Ferrers. After he had broken one of his own cardinal rules yesterday and revealed to her information that normally MI5 and the CIA wouldn’t be able to drag out of him, Adrian found himself speculating whether he could trust her after all. Young Ferrers was a cocky so-and-so, and definitely not someone to place your trust in. If Liadan didn’t have the wits to deduce that for herself, then both of them were in trouble.

Adrian had only employed Steven out of deference to George; he was well aware of the younger man’s employment history. It was unusual if he managed to hold down a job for more than a couple of weeks, according to his records. Clearly allergic to work, he sought out every opportunity to disappear for a smoke and Adrian knew that George had covered for him on numerous occasions when Steven had hopped off home early. Right now he was holding onto his job by a wing and a prayer. That said…what did he want with Liadan? Sighing, Adrian silently answered his own question. Liadan was young, beautiful and available—just by virtue of the fact that she was living and working in Adrian’s house. To Steven Ferrers she was doubtless easy pickings.

Irritation growing into disquieting, gnawing rage, Adrian swore and turned back to his computer.

‘What are they doing in here? I never have flowers in the house…ever! Didn’t Kate tell you?’

Her whole body tensing, Liadan turned from dusting the beautiful gold carriage clock on the marble mantelpiece and tried to smile. It was all very well coolly trotting out ‘nothing’s set in stone, though, is it?’ to George Ferrers, but now, faced with what she had done in the light of Adrian’s apparent loathing, she couldn’t help feeling she’d made a bad decision. Judging by the furious scowl across his deeply compelling features, a very bad decision.

‘They bring sunshine into the house and light up the room…don’t you think?’ In the face of his obvious hostility, Liadan’s words sounded ineffectual and feeble, like trying to irrigate miles of desert with a watering can. No matter how passionate she was on the subject, she knew she would never convince him that the vivid yellow flowers that filled the beautiful glass vases on either side of the fireplace should stay.

‘Get rid of them!’ Turning his back, Adrian paused in the doorway, clearly too overwhelmed with anger to even face her. Gazing at the tense stance of those impressively broad shoulders beneath his black cashmere sweater, Liadan concluded it must take a massive amount of mental discipline to contain that much fury and emotion twenty-four hours a day. Didn’t he ever get tired of being so angry?

‘I’m sorry you don’t like them. I’ll remove them to my room.’

‘What were you doing talking to Steven Ferrers?’ Like a whiplash he had spun round to face her again, his dark eyes openly hostile and suspicious.

Because he was confrontational and she was genuinely upset about having to remove the flowers, Liadan raised her chin defiantly.

‘Is that against the rules too?’

‘When you live under my roof, Liadan, you obey my rules. I’m not interested in whether you like them or not.’

Biting down on her lip, Liadan held onto her own temper by a thread. It didn’t matter that she wished Steven Ferrers wouldn’t come within ten feet of her, never mind talk to her! What did matter was that she objected to being spoken to like a badly behaved child.

‘So what are you saying? That I’m not to converse with the two other members of your staff, ever? That could make things slightly awkward.’ Her cornflower blue eyes were glittering, and another emotion besides irritation swept through Adrian as he studied her. Even when she was furious—and he could see that she was—with that tumbling red-gold hair that refused to stay bound and her eye-catching figure in jeans and a white ribbed sweater, she undeniably stirred his blood. Sucking in a deep breath, Adrian strained every muscle in his body to try and tamp down the power of his desire.

‘It’s Steven I want you to keep away from, as much as possible. George is a good man—you have nothing to fear from him.’

Her heart knocking against her ribs, a vivid image stealing into her mind of Steven Ferrers’ face hovering angrily too close to her own—so close that she could smell the tobacco on his breath—Liadan blinked in surprise. ‘You’re saying I do have something to fear where Steven is concerned?’

‘Just keep away from him. I don’t want him bothering you.’ He met her eyes with an intense glance that sent a little zing of heat dancing through her blood, but Liadan told herself she must have imagined the distinct note of concern in Adrian’s voice. The only concern he had was to be obeyed to the letter, she thought crossly. Yesterday, when he had confided in her about Petra Collins, now seemed like something she had dreamt—because today he was suddenly a very different man. Today he was definitely the Lord and Master of all he surveyed, and Liadan very much his lowly employee. No doubt he had regretted telling her so much and now sought to establish the proper distance to their relationship, lest she should try and take advantage.

She shouldn’t feel so upset at the idea, but strangely she did. She was alone out here, in this big, aloof house, with a man who was about as sociable as a wounded bear and with a growing sense that whatever she did—however perfectly or wonderfully she did her job—it would somehow never be good enough.

‘Was there anything else, Mr Jacobs? I really should get on.’ Lifting one of the glass vases, Liadan blew a curling red-gold lock of hair from her eyes, striving to keep her gaze as impersonal and unaffected as possible. A frown between his dark brows, Adrian didn’t reply straight away. To Liadan’s increasing discomfort he seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time just staring at her. What he was thinking about, she couldn’t begin to guess.

‘The flowers can stay,’ he said gruffly.

Her blue eyes widened in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘Oh, but it is!’ Putting the vase back in its place, Liadan straightened, resting her hand momentarily on the marble mantel. ‘If putting them here makes you unhappy, I’ll take them away to my room. This is your home. You have a right to have things the way you like them.’

Home. Adrian’s glance was unremittingly scornful. ‘It’s people who make a home, Liadan, not bricks and mortar. Take away the people who matter and all you have is a shell. Small or grand—it doesn’t matter. It’s still a shell.’

Sensing his anguish and frustration, Liadan didn’t know what to say. For a moment there she’d never seen anyone look more lost…or more alone.

‘Anyway, I’d better put you in the picture about tomorrow.’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Relieved that he’d changed the subject because he would probably only scorn any comfort she tried to offer, Liadan waited with interest for him to tell her.

‘Cheryl Kendall’s newspaper is printing Petra’s claim about the abortion. I fully expect to be invaded in the morning by journalists champing at the bit. My solicitor, Edward Barry, will be here first thing to make a statement on my behalf. Just stay put in the house for a while until they go, will you? I don’t want you getting caught up in the free-for-all, and, believe me, it will be one.’

He had that world-weary look in his dark eyes again and this time Liadan really did feel like comforting him. She knew it wasn’t her place and that she had no right—she was just someone he’d given a job to, and what did she know of the personal torment he was going through? But she was adamant that he shouldn’t have to endure such invasion alone, with nobody on his side but his solicitor.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Adrian?’

‘Just do the job I’m paying you to do. There’s nothing more you can do for me but that.’

As Adrian turned away from the distinctly hurt look in her lovely blue eyes he wondered when he’d added lying to his list of sins. Right now there was another kind of comfort he’d readily accept from Liadan Willow. And it definitely wasn’t a kind that was within the remit of her job. He should put his lustful thoughts about her firmly to the back of his mind and remember that he needed a housekeeper far more than he needed a woman to warm his bed.

Returning to his study, he found it impossible to concentrate on his manuscript. Seeing those bright yellow tulips in the drawing room had foisted a wave of melancholy upon him that he couldn’t seem to shake. It wasn’t that he hated flowers as such—when everything started to bloom again in the gardens there was nothing he enjoyed more than to walk undisturbed through the meandering paths and admire nature at its most lovely. But flowers in the house reminded him of the cloying, desolate atmosphere of Nicole’s home on the day of her funeral. Because it had been raining heavily outside, all the mourners had gathered first at the house and Trevor and Barbara Wilson’s home had been full of bouquets and wreaths, the rooms overflowing with them. Their combined sweet cloying scent had almost made Adrian gag.

Now he found that his body was restless and he had a frustration in him that for once wouldn’t be beaten into submission by applying himself to work. Dreading the melee and intrusion of newspaper journalists tomorrow, he wished he could escape somewhere where he would never be found again. He’d had a fling with Petra Collins in a weak, despairing moment, fuelled by an excess of alcohol at dinner, and now regretted it bitterly. Adrian could only pray that once this latest nonsense had died a thoroughly deserved death, they would all go away and leave him alone for good.

Knowing he had to divert his restless energy somehow, he put a classical CD in the player, sat in his favourite winged armchair where he could gaze out at the melting snow in a landscape that was usually lush and green, and waited for the music to bring salve to his soul.

Unable to sleep, her mind whirring with thoughts of the morning when a barrage of reporters would apparently be gathering on the front steps, Liadan got out of bed, pulled on her white towelling robe over tartan flannel pyjamas and stepped outside into the long, echoing corridor. Thankfully there was a light still burning and she could see her way down the long, sweeping staircase to the lower floor where the kitchen was. Assuring herself that a glass of hot milk would do the trick and help her to sleep, she opened the door and switched on the light. Her heart almost burst out of her chest in fright when she saw Adrian stare back at her in surprise from the comfort of the kitchen chair he was currently occupying. In his hand he nursed what looked like a glass of scotch. His hooded eyes adjusting themselves to the light, his stern mouth lifted in a mocking little smile.